


Winning Big

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15108593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Written for a prompt at the SPN kink meme: Dean made a bet with some really big and muscly men where if Dean beats them in pool, they will pay him a ton of money. However, if Dean loses, they get to fuck Castiel right there on the pool table in the bar. Other than the slight risk, this should be easy money for Dean who has never failed in hustling pool, right?





	Winning Big

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2013.

Dean was just about to wrap up for the night when the five men arrived.

"Thirty grand, huh? And what happens if I lose?" Have to at least pretend to be worried about the possibility, even though he's in the best form he's been in ages, as evidenced by the sheer number of other bar patrons he's cheated so much cash out of.

They're built like brick walls and the biggest brick wall, standing at the front of the group, simply shrugs and points over to Cas - newly human, still otherworldly Cas sitting with an intent look of curiosity beside Dean's empty seat at the bar. "We get to have your friend over there."

Dean's eyes nearly pop out of his head at the implications.

"Dude, I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm not a pimp or anything and I'm definitely not going to just hand him over to you guys. I'm just here to have some fun on the table and maybe earn myself some cash. Just like the rest of you." He gets it, he does; Cas looks fucking adorable perched on the edge of his stool like the most eager little student of the ways of humanity, enough to make anyone forget he used to be an incredibly badass angel of the lord, and maybe Dean can see why they'd like to fuck him. And wow, did he really just think that?

The brick wall leans forward, inches from Dean's face. His breath stinks of cheap booze and cigarettes.

"Listen, I've been watching you tonight and I know what you do. I also know that the rest of this bar is not going to be loving you if they find out you've been hustling pool right under their noses." And, um, wow. Threat officially registered. Dean's in no mood to pick a fight with what looks like the star quarterbacks of every winning team ever,  _on steroids_ , so he makes a move to nod and agree to get the fuck out of here, but the guy wraps one massive hand around his forearm before he can leave.

"Hey, don't get the wrong idea. All I'm saying is that we play a good, fair game here, with a little bet on the side. Give you the chance to go home with some extra cash in your pocket, reward you for your troubles. I know a good hustler when I see one and I reckon you deserve it." Another casual shrug. "If you're not as good as you think you are, then, well. Worst case scenario? Go home alone. No big deal."

Dean's mind suddenly clicks and he grins, mostly to himself. There are people like Mr Mack Truck around everywhere; a whole lot of them are fellow hunters. They know a few things about pool and think they can beat Dean at his own game? Well, they're about to go home thirty thousand dollars poorer.

"You know what? Fine. I hope you know what you're getting yourselves into, though," he finally drawls, grabbing the cues from the stand with a smirk.

*

Stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking stupid! He should have just grabbed Cas and bailed as soon as he heard their stupid offer, cowardice be damned. He knew it was a fucking trick, he knew it. But he played anyway, and --

He started planning a run for it with Cas as soon as he realised there was no way for him to win, that they were a heck of a lot better at pool than he'd ever bargained for. What were they, professional players or something? But there was already one scumbag stationed right beside the front door to stop them leaving, and they'd threatened to rape and shoot the pair of them if Dean didn't follow through with the deal.

God, Cas had trusted that big guy so easily too. Trusted him when he came from the table and told the earthbound angel he was just an old buddy of Dean's, and Dean knew Castiel had instantly thought hunting buddy. He had felt sick to his stomach watching it all from where he was being held in a deathgrip by one of the group.

And the worst of it was, if it had just been Dean alone, this wouldn't have fucking mattered. But Cas, Castiel, pure and untouched and  _so fucking innocent_ walking up to the table with a big grin, so pleased to meet some other hunters now that he was finally less grumpy about being stuck on this rock for good, and determined to become a hunter himself.

The grip around his neck and shoulders is like steel and no matter what he does, the man doesn't seem to let up for a single second. It should be fucking easy for him to throw the guy off, but he's just on this side of intoxicated from the victory beers he got in the last game, and he doesn't exactly plan on needing sawed off shotguns at the local small town bar, does he?

Sure, Castiel had fought like a freaking tiger when he saw Dean in a headlock and realised what was going on, but he was cornered by three of the biggest, most muscled up freaks Dean has ever seen in his life, and Jimmy's soft office-worker body never stood a chance. Hell,  _Dean_  didn't stand a chance. Not without a scrap of weaponry with him and Ruby's knife still tucked away in his jacket over the bar stool. He was such an idiot, such a fucking  _idiot_  and look what he'd  _done._

They'd slammed Castiel down on the table, right in front of the whole fucking bar - not that the few people left in the place even blinked, just looked away quickly if they happened to see into that darkened corner of the room, and god, Dean wanted to murder them all. He'd prayed, actually  _prayed_ , that someone was going to call for help but no one ever did and certainly no one ever arrived to play the big damn hero.

"Oh no, you don't get out of this so easily, mate." Dean tried to look away when they tore Cas' trousers and boxers down together in one hard yank, but the man holding him back had grabbed his jaw and fucking  _twisted_  until he opened his eyes again. "Don't you wanna watch your sweet friend any more? You put him there, remember?" And then Dean had wanted to throw up when Castiel caught his eye, fear and confusion all over his face.

The man holding him had seen it too, and the fucker was getting hard, his erection pressed against the small of Dean's back.

"Don't look so pissy. We won that game fair and square, and you know it."

"Fuck you," Dean had hissed, struggling again with renewed effort as he watched one of the men tear Cas' shirt off with a merciless rip of fabric. He felt an unexpected bolt of pride as Castiel fought back even more, refusing to let his mouth be levered open by the fat fingers pawing at his face, even when they held his nose and Dean began to worry his angel was going to pass out from oxygen deprivation.

Meanwhile, the burliest man - the one who had first proposed the offer, and the one who was going to be first to get his face mashed to a pulp along with a few ruptured organs as soon as Dean got out of this fucking chokehold and -- Dean didn't have time to finish the thought, being forced to watch as the man hitched Castiel's legs high up over his shoulders, then shoved a finger inside, hard. Castiel's entire body bucked upwards and he screamed, scrabbling on the green cloth beneath him until it tore under his fingernails.

"Get the fuck off him!" Dean shouted as he fought harder than ever, trying to land punches on the face he knew had to be above him somewhere, and kicking behind him with a desperation that would have shamed his father. All he achieved was getting the guy to batten down his grip even harder, holding Dean's throat so tight he could barely breathe. Oh god, he could see Cas panicking now as another finger slid inside, and the movement must have only made everything hurt even more, but Dean was completely helpless to stop it and it was all. his. fault.

Another man bent over Castiel's face to force a slimy tongue into his mouth, and Dean knew Castiel must have bitten down because almost immediately he had pulled back with a pathetically embarrassing yelp, spitting blood. Dean wanted to cheer - he'd take what victories he could at this point - but then the man's fist came down into the side of the angel's face, making his head slam into the table with a sickening crack.

"Do that again and I'll pull out your teeth. And I'll bend your boyfriend here over the table too."

Dean's knees felt like they'd turned to jelly.

Castiel stopped fighting immediately, had only groaned and tried to curl his arm over his face protectively when the stupidly muscle-bound man between his legs lifted him by his hair and shook him like a rag doll, trying to get some kind of response.

"Gonna have to buy the place a new table," the man beside him sniggered derisively, flicking a piece of the green felt into Cas' eyes before pushing his fingers back into the now slack mouth. "Put those holes of yours to good use."

Then he unzipped his jeans and moved in front of Castiel, blocking Dean's view. But he could only imagine what was happening all too well.

Jesus fuck, this was all his fault.

He couldn't hear Cas over the disgustingly lewd moans of the men around him any more, except for the occasional whimper as one of them thrust too hard into him. They tried to get him to scream again, egging him on like they were just friends watching a frustrating football game, but with the cock in Cas' mouth it was impossible for him to do much more except gasp in pain.

"Put on a show for us, baby," one of the men had groaned out as he switched with the one who'd just finished, before he pushed into Cas much too fast, making Dean wince in helpless sympathy. "Gonna tell us how much you like it? Fucking scream for us, come on, you little slut." He motioned for the man at Cas' face to move away, giving Dean a clear view of his face.

Their eyes locked for a second and Dean looked away, burning in shame and guilt. Cas had had tears in his eyes, white fluid marking his face and he looked absolutely fucking wrecked, and definitely not in the good way. He heard, more than saw, one of the men yank Cas up again by his hair, earning a groan and a small scuffle as Cas batted uselessly at the hand gripping him.

"Look, whore, I was nice enough to let you go without dick in your mouth for a little while, so you're going to listen to me. This is how it's going to work. You scream when we tell you to scream, and you beg when we tell you to beg. You got that? We're in charge here now."

Cas didn't respond and Dean wanted to yell, wanted to demand to take his place but he was too much of a fucking coward; his throat wouldn't work no matter how much he worked at his voice, and he could only watch as they just kept fucking Cas over, and over, and over.

And every time they gave him an order he disobeyed, they'd slam his head into the green fabric again until Dean was certain there would be a huge dent in the table by the time they were done -  _if_  they ever finished in the first place, because God, this felt like it was lasting forever and he just wanted it all to end.

But Cas still didn't say a word, not when they threatened to choke the life out of him - "No one in this bar is going to give a shit if we kill you here, so you beg for mercy while you can, you little slut --" - or when they'd offered to play nicer if they shouted for his mom like a good boy, or...

Until finally, Cas must have passed out or something, and Dean felt a stroke of relief that Cas could escape it for only a little while, even though his unresponsiveness didn't make a single one of the men pause for a moment.

It felt like it had been hours and Dean wasn't even the one this was being done to, so how the fuck did Cas feel?

*

When they were finished they just... left. Dropped everything and went, with the guy holding Dean leaving last, but not until after he pushed Dean towards the table as an afterthought.

"Thanks for the party. Go take care of your little pet. And we better not be seeing you around here ever again," he had warned before the door swung shut behind him.

Dean was scrambling to Cas' side in an instant, apologies falling from his lips as he surveyed the damage, a hand on Cas' chest to stop him from trying to get up without support.

"Dean," he said, voice scratchier than usual and  _oh god Dean remembers how it got like that way too well_. "Stop apologising."

Dean did.

"You're right, Cas. Sorry's not enough. But I can't -- I can't fix this. I should have said, should have stopped --"

"No, Dean. It's... This isn't your fault," he assured, voice somehow infinitely calmer than Dean's even though he was the one still covered in spots of his own blood and smears from three different strangers' come because his stupid, arrogant asshole of a partner decided it would be okay to bet his ass in a pool game!

But... but Cas didn't know what Dean had done. And Dean couldn't make himself tell him. Not now.

He could only try to put Cas back together as well as he could. Because he was too scared to do anything else.


End file.
